


Once and Once Again

by Kei (adakie)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, FaeU, Feywild Kingdoms, Gen, Vague Mentions of Abuse, including the big ones; Yasha Caleb and Nott, non-canonical feywild, spoilers for everyone's canon backstory, storybook style introductions, winged fey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:56:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17597348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adakie/pseuds/Kei
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a girl/a boy/a young woman/a young man/a mourner/a goblin/a caretaker/a lost soul.  And they met/and they found/and they lost/and they fell/and they loved/and they hated/and they left/and they waited … because something was beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's been some really interesting fairy/fae AUs for CritRole already, and they inspired me to explore my own take on the topic. My friend and I call this the FaeU, though in my notes it’s the Feywild Kingdoms au. Basically dividing up the playable races into fey-type and mortal-type, having most magic come from fae origins, and making up my own rules for a more structured feywild influenced by the Seelie and Unseelie courts (though without the good vs evil aspect, I went with something more seasonal based instead). It’s become a oneshot setting for our weekly game, but it’s also just a lot of fun. So I figured … well why not go ahead and write this down? If I ever decide to go on and write the full story these 'intro chapters' will be a good prequel, otherwise it’s just an interesting little look at what could be.

Once upon a time, there was a realm of magic and myth.  A land where gods whispered the impossible into being and death came slowly to all who lived there.  And on the bright shores of this realm, in a kingdom where the sun never truly set, there was a little girl.    
  
She lived in a tall, lovely building with many rooms, most of which she had explored when everyone else was asleep.  There were others who lived there too, but they were always busy and never had the time to play with the girl.  Not even her mother, who she loved more than anything, could spend more than a few hours with her each day.  The girl knew she was lucky, that not everyone had a nice home with toys and a warm bed and people who loved them the way she did, but she couldn’t help feeling lonely in the big house.    
  
The girl was not like the rest of the fair folk that she saw from her window.  She had curling horns and a long tail that lashed and flicked with every shift of her moods.  Not unheard of for certain, most tieflings were just as fey as any elf or gnome.  The magic of their realm lived in her blood just as it did in theirs.  No, it was her color that set her apart.  Unlike her mother’s beautiful ruby red or the jewel-like array of oranges and purples she saw from other tieflings, she was bright blue.  Blue as the sea.  Mama’s little sapphire.  And the girl was happy with her uniqueness, for the most part.  Especially now that she was old enough to have another special trait.  
  
Her wings were still new.  They fluttered weakly, stirring a gentle breeze against her skin which was still itchy and reddened where they had emerged.  Weak, but getting stronger every day.  Perhaps now, they would be strong enough?  Her mother had told her to wait.  Give it time, she’d said, no one learns to fly overnight.  But the girl was always curious and she’d grown impulsive and reckless in her loneliness.  Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try again.    
  
And so, standing in the middle of her room with no one else in sight, the girl tried once more to fly.  She jumped as high as she could, glossy wings beating fast behind her, but each time she found her feet touched back down onto the ground far too soon.  Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to spark that warm rush of magic that would lift her up and make her body weightless.  She needed more height, the girl thought, surely that would make her magic kick in and her wings begin to work the way they should.  Surely then she could fly like the fey she saw darting across the sky outside her window.  Then she could dance through the air like her mother, graceful and lovely.  She just needed a little push to get herself going.  Or rather, a little fall.    
  
Giggling to herself, the girl set to work.  She stacked boxes and chairs on a large trunk at the foot of her bed, creating a tilting tower more than double her own height.  She scrambled up it eagerly, pausing only when it seemed like something might shift too far under her weight, until she found herself perched awkwardly at the top.  Her makeshift tower hadn’t looked that big when she was building it, but now the distance between her and the floor seemed to stretch on forever.  The little girl clung tight to the edge of a chair for a moment or two.  She was afraid, but she wanted to fly so badly.  Maybe then her mother would let her go out on her own.  Maybe if she could fly, mama would trust her to take care of herself and she could be friends with the other children she watched from her window. The girl took a deep breath, closed her eyes against the dizzying height, and jumped.    
  
For just a moment, she was weightless.  Not falling, but not quite flying either.  The feeling was new and exhilarating.  And in it, anything was possible.  But it was only a moment.  Just like that it was gone, and the little girl was falling with nothing to catch her.  
  
Then the window burst open, a strong breeze making the curtains flap wildly like colorful streamers.  It swirled around her like a living thing, keeping her small body aloft barely a foot above the floor.  It should have been terrifying to be at the mercy of some unknown magic, but the girl was not afraid.  Her wide eyed amazement quickly gave way to joy and she laughed, her small wings fluttering in the otherworldly wind.  She was flying!    
  
Strange laughter echoed her own as the wind slowly faded.  The girl dropped to the floor, bruising her knees as she fell, but she hardly felt the sting.  She quickly got to her feet, tail lashing beneath her paint-stained skirt.    
  
“That was great!” she exclaimed as she looked about, “can we do that again?”  But the girl saw no one.  Her room was still empty, only herself and her toys for company.  She ran to the window, but there was no one outside in the sky nor on the street.  She was all alone.  And yet, she didn’t feel alone anymore.  “You’re still there, right?  Can we play again?”  
  
Once more she heard the laughter, unfamiliar yet warm with fondness.    
  
_‘What’s your name?’_ the voice asked, and the little girl, with no fear in her heart, replied.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Once upon a time, in a corner of the realm where winter frosts did not dare to come, there was a garden.  It was wild and lush, much like the lands surrounding it, with carpet-like mosses and clinging vines that erupted in a dazzling array of tiny, perfect blossoms.  This was the type of place that could not be tamed by the hand of man nor woman, but rather guided by them.  Shaped into something harmonious and peaceful.  A fitting place for those at the end of their long lives to be laid to rest and return to the land which nurtured them.  And in that verdant garden, there was a young man.    
  
He had lived for many seasons already, many more than most fey will ever see, yet he was still young by the standards of his clan.  Time had little hold on this realm, even less so on his people.  But in these past seasons, he had finally begun to feel its work.  His body remained youthful, but his spirit felt more weathered with each passing moon.  He was alone in the garden.  The last caretaker of the blooming grove.    
  
There had been many here once, a large family of which he’d been the youngest.  The peaceful days of his childhood seemed at once ancient and a mere breath past.  He remembered carefree days playing in the woods with his sisters.  Standing on a stool to see over high counters and catch the scent of stew cooking or bread baking.  Silly arguments that boiled over into childish screaming.  His parents making them stand quietly together as they laid a still body in the ground.  Mourners weeping with such grief that he found himself crying with them.  It hadn’t always been pleasant or simple, but it had been good.    
  
But then, the blight had come to the woods beyond their home.    
  
The blooming glove was a special place, ‘sacred land’ some said, and his family had been entrusted with its care for generations.  It was their task to guard the land and guide those who wished to rest forever as a part of it, and as such it was their duty to undo whatever had poisoned the woods.  That’s what his parents had told him as they’d left in search of answers.  But they’d never returned.  Then it was his siblings’ turns, as one by one they set out in different directions until only the young man and his youngest sister were left.  He hadn’t wanted her to follow them, even though he knew some day she would.  They’d talked until talking turned to arguing and arguing became shouting, but she would not listen.  And in time, he gave up trying to make her understand.    
  
He hadn’t wanted her to go, but he’d sat there, awake in his bed, and watched her walk out the door without a word.    
  
The young man didn’t speak much after that, but in his silence he learned to listen.  The wild woods had a thousand voices, all of which he knew by heart.  Whistling wind and creaking branches.  Rustling leaves and chirping crickets.  The gentle voice of she who watched over everything.  He’d heard them all his life, but in the silence of his empty home they rang clearer than ever before.  And he heard the words of the mother of the wild who had called his family away.  Heard her compassion for his sadness.  Heard her call him to her service.  Heard her tell him gently; ‘wait.’  ‘Your sign will come.’  
  
In the flourishing wilderness of eternal spring, past the dark, twisting thorns of cursed woodland, there lies a secluded grove dotted with gravestones and a large, old house.  And there, his bags packed, a young man waits.    
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note ... this chapter hints at a bigger plot that I have been tinkering with for at least two months now, and the last few episodes just made me want to do it more.

  
Once upon a time, in a wholly unremarkable village, there were three truly remarkable children.  Bright sparks, their parents called them.  Gifted.  And it was impossible not to notice the potential they had.  They were hard workers and quick learners, and it wasn’t long before someone else saw that potential as well.  Someone with ideas of his own for the three children.  And so, a clever boy and his two friends were taken away from their families and shown the hidden secrets of the realms beyond their world.    
  
The boy had always been fascinated by stories of the fey and their magic.  That kind of power was rare in his world.  It took many years of study and often expensive materials.  Even one mystic tome was worth more gold than his parents had made in his entire life.  The thought of learning magic had been a far off dream that he’d never quite managed to make himself give up until the day his fortunes had turned and that dream at last came within reach.    
  
He had a gift, that’s what the man had said.  A spark.  He had the potential to be someone special.  To see the world beyond the tiny town he’d been born in.  To finally have the answers to all his questions.  It was worth the long, sleepless nights spent pouring over borrowed books, copying and re-copying until his stiff fingers refused to straighten and each blink of his eyelids felt like the scrape of sandpaper.  And when inexperience and fatigue caused him to make mistakes, he bore each swift punishment in silence.  It was only right that he suffer the consequences of his actions, after all.  Only right that the lesson leave a mark.  And the lingering pain would remind him next time to do better.  Be better.  Be nothing short of perfect or else you do not deserve the chance you have been given.    
  
In time, the boy and his friends were moved away from the school that had been their temporary home.  And in this new, secluded place, their lessons began to change.  It was training, their teacher said, to make them strong.  Though they channeled the arcane energy that leached into their world from the fey realm, their bodies still had to become stronger lest it overwhelm them.  It was conditioning, their mentor said, to make them more resilient.  Magic took great focus of mind, and how could they focus if something so simple made them flinch?  It was a special ritual, their master said, to give them power.  Something to help the arcane energy flow through them and attune them to the other realm.  It was all necessary to bring out that potential he saw in each of them.  And he should know better than anyone, shouldn’t he?  So the children believed him, and took to these new lessons with equal dedication.    
  
Be better.  Be perfect.  Be more.  Learn every spell and follow every command.  Obey all that is asked of you without question.  Until the day he couldn’t.  The clever boy opened his eyes for the first time in so very, very long, and the reality he saw burning before him was too much to take.  
  
In a lonely house not too far away from the wholly unremarkable village, a cunning man with a dangerous secret took three bright, young children and turned them into something neither realm had ever seen before.  And when his clever boy failed him, mind fracturing under the weight of horror as the truth struggled to escape the smothering falsehoods that had been planted there, the man hid him away where none would believe the half-formed words that spilled from his lips.  He would decide later what to do with his broken project.  For now, there was so much more work to be done.    
  



	4. Chapter 4

Once upon a time, days from land on a troubled sea, there was a ship.  It was a simple vessel, weathered and worn by long voyages across the ocean but sturdy for its years.  Many had called it home, if only for a few weeks at a time, though to some it meant so much more.  And on that ship, toiling away beneath the hot sun, there was a young man.    
  
He was new to this ship, though not to this life.  As far back as he could remember, the young man had lived in a town by the sea.  He would spend his days at the docks, watching waves roll ceaseless towards land as gulls swoop in lazily circles through the air until the sun set and the painted sky grew dark.  The men and women who roamed the docks were often strange, like he was.  They stood out in their vibrant colors and vivid clothes.  People in town would keep their distance, giving them suspicious looks that the young man was all too familiar with, but the sailors did not seem to notice or care.  They were confident and sure.  They swept into town only as long as they needed to and then were gone, sailing off with nothing to tie them down.  And the young man, with neither family nor friends in a town where he would always stand apart, dreamed of going with them.    
  
The sailors wouldn’t look down on him.  They wouldn’t care about his green skin.  They wouldn’t notice the tusks he picked and chipped away at until the taste of blood lingered on his tongue.  If only he could go with them, out there on the open sea, he was certain he would finally find a place where he belonged.  And so, as soon as he’d grown old enough, he had boarded one of those ships and set sail, determined to not look back.   
  
It should have been a storybook ending for the young man, but few things ever are.  He wasn’t the ‘freak’ or the ‘monster’ anymore, but he was something else to these people that was nearly as bad; the ‘rookie’.  The new guy.  The trainee who didn’t know their place.  At first he’d thought it was simple hazing, but as time went by and he found new ships and new crews to work with, the trend persisted.  There was always at least one person looking to push him around.  And the young man, as he always had, let it happen.  He kept his head down and tried not to hear the jeering words or raucous laughter at his expense.  If that was the price for this life of freedom he’d found on the sea, it was worth it.    
  
The young man tuned out the teasing comments of his fellow sailors.  He focused on his work and pretended he could not hear the names they called him.  It didn’t matter, he told himself.  Don’t listen to them.  But though his mind wrapped itself up in the comforting lap of waves against the ship’s mighty hull, his heart heard every word.    
  
Until, one day, his captain’s booming voice cut through the din of teasing laughter.    
  
“Hey!  There’ll be none of that on my ship.  You lot get back to work before I decide you oughta row your way to shore.  And you.”  The captain turned towards him and pointed at the young man, his stare unreadable.  “You come with me.”  
  
Without another word he turned and left, disappearing down into the ship, low mutters and conspiratory snickering in his wake.  And for the first time in a long time, the young man found himself shaken.  What had he done to earn his captain’s ire?  The other crew members had more than their fair share of theories, which they hissed in whispers as he walked numbly past them.  ‘Don’t listen,’ he thought as he forced himself to descend the wooden steps, ‘they don’t know what they’re talking about.  They don’t know you at all.’  
  
His heart pounded as he made his way to the captain’s quarters, shutting the door soundlessly behind him.  Ever since they’d met he had felt a kinship with this man, an unspoken sort of bond that let him feel at ease in his company.  He’d hoped, once, that this was someone he could look up to.  Someone who could show him what it meant to be a man of the sea.  To be free and proud.  To be everything he feared he wasn’t.    
  
As the door shut, cutting them off from the outside world, it was like a breath of tension had been released.  The captain’s shoulders sagged as he sat behind an old wooden desk, glancing towards the young man with an apologetic smile.  “Sorry you had to go through that, son.  They should know better by now but,” he shrugged as he reached into a drawer and retrieved two glasses, sliding one towards the young man.  “Well, our kind just has that effect on people sometimes.”  
  
“Our kind?”  
  
“Well ya.  You know.”  The captain waved his hand in a vague, fluttery gesture, mouth curved into a wry half-smile that faded as the young man’s confusion grew stronger.  “You … don’t know.”  He let out a quiet chuckle, though the way his gaze darted away betrayed him.  “You’re part fey, boy.”    
  
The young man sat heavily in an empty chair, his body falling into it like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  Was this some elaborate joke?  Surely this wild accusation couldn’t be the truth.  And yet, this was his captain.  One of so very few people who hadn’t looked at him with any distrust or contempt.  He wanted to believe, but wasn’t sure how.    
  
The captain retrieved a familiar bottle of amber colored liquor, pouring a small amount into each glass.  He downed his own in one swallow and refilled it.  “They call people like us time touched.  ‘Least, on the other side they do.  We don’t have a good word for it here.  I think most people just want to pretend folks like us don’t exist.  We scare them a bit.  Can’t help it really.  Part of how I knew you were one.  Once you’ve met a couple, it gets easy to tell.  It’s in the eyes.”  
  
He tapped a finger against his brow, catching the young man’s gaze with his own.  His eyes were bright, vivid in a way the young man’s own eyes had always been.  And as he watched, the color of them seemed to swirl and shimmer ever so faintly.    
  
“Is that why you,” the young man swallowed thickly, a question he feared to ask sticking in his throat.  He took the glass and drank.  The liquid burned pleasantly on the way down.   “Is that why you picked me?”  
  
“It might’a been what made me notice you, I’ll admit, but it’s not why you’re here.  You’re a damn good sailor, son.  I trust you as much as any other person on this crew.  In fact, I think you might have the makings of greatness in you.  But,” the captain smacked both palms down on the table as he stood, “right now I think we both have a job to do.  Go on, back on deck with ya.”  
   
And just like that, the world settled into normalcy once more.  Only, not quite as dreary nor as simple as ‘normal’ had once been.  The young man was a cautious sort, slow to believe in the fantastical, but he’d heard a secret truth in his captain’s words.  A truth he would hold, safe and secret, until fate finally called him away to a distant shore.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey it's two for one, Fjord and Yasha chapters posted at once. Because they're short enough so why not.

  
Once upon a time, in the untamed lands that lay between the great kingdoms of timeless magic, a young woman wept alone.  She had not always been alone, as few ever are.  Once she had been part of a mighty and powerful tribe.  A band of warriors whose name was known to many that wandered the high, lonely mountains.  They roamed their lawless land, free from the rule of the four courts.  And she had been happy, for a time.    
  
She had loved, once, so fiercely that even the greatest joys of life paled in comparison to her beloved’s smile.  It was a fellow warrior who had so quickly captured her heart, but not the one their elders said was meant for her.  The young woman was promised to another, as was her beloved.  But the two women were strong of body, will, and heart, and they would not let the rule of any man or woman keep them apart.  They met in secret as tenderness blossomed into love, and in that secret they wed.  Hands clasped together under the light of the watchful stars, where no living creature could judge them, they swore on a love that would know no ending.  And the young woman had wanted for nothing more than this.  
  
But even in their timeless realm, very few things last forever.    
  
She had lost, once, and in that moment her entire world had shattered.  For try as they might, they could not keep their bonding a secret.  The elders saw the love in their eyes, and before they could run it was too late.  The woman they spared, for her strength was both prized and feared in their tribe, but someone had to pay for their transgressions.  And as she watched through the blur of her tears, restrained and helpless, the tribe gathered around her beloved and struck her down.    
  
The young woman had cried, great shuddering sobs tearing from her as she fought her way towards the ghastly sight, and her tears fell like rain upon the face of the one she loved.  The body was still warm in her arms.  She sparked magic from her fingertips, pressing the warm glow of healing into torn skin, but it skittered away like droplets of water for there was no life left for her magic to take root in.  She smoothed braided hair away from sightless eyes, ran her fingers ever so gently across feather-soft wings stained red with blood, and pressed a final kiss to cold lips that would never smile again.   
  
And the woman, lost in her grieving, let anger take hold of her.  It twisted like ugly thorns in her chest, turning her against her own people.  For they were not her own any longer.  Not if they so willingly took the life of her beloved.  She felt no pain as the pale, downy patterns of her own wings tore apart, shredded into dust until only a dark lattice of bone-like protrusions remained.  And as an inky blackness filled her eyes, she laid down the lifeless body of her beloved and took up a blade in her place.  
  
She fell willingly into a darkness so deep and empty that nothing could escape it.  Faces lost their meaning.  What did they matter when those she’d thought were family had taken everything from her?  Screams had no sound.  Why even hear when they could hold no sway over the empty shell of her broken heart?  And even when the tribe was gone, she lingered in that consuming darkness beyond the reach of light or love, for she could not bear to return to a world without her beloved in it.    
  
Until, at last, light split her dark vision in two.  It cracked across the sky, brilliant and jagged as her own fury, with a booming bellow so strong it shook the ground beneath her.  The woman looked up at the sky and found its rolling gray clouds aglow with distant flashes of lightning.  Though she saw no figure, she knew there were eyes on her.  Thunder roared, and she felt the voice of it inside her broken heart.    
  
‘Rise, fallen warrior, and be one of my own.’  
  
  
Alone in the wilds, surrounded by the ruin of what had once been her home, a young woman cried as she dug a single grave.  She thrust her hands into the dirt, scooping up handful after handful until the hole was deep and her palms crimson slicked once more.  And there, in the looming shadow of the peaks, she laid her beloved to rest.    
  
She tilted her face up as the rain began to fall, letting it wash the blood from her hands and the tears from her face.  The skeletal remains of her wings spread out behind her, raised high as if beckoning to the storm above.    
  
Thunder rolled overhead and whispered in her ear.  ‘Hear my voice.  This is not where your story ends.  There is a path you must yet walk.’  
  
So the young woman turned away from the place where she had buried her heart, picked up her sword, and followed.    
  



End file.
